This story deals with a wise owl that interacted with the Atmoran people after a centuries-long war had come to an end, and who watches over them as they rebuilt their cities and villages. Despite watching with great curiosity, the owl never acts - until it leaves one day. The VA steps into the shoes of an Atmoran Skald in a meadhall, telling this story to both drunk Atmorans winding down after a long day and the Atmoran children. It's basically an Atmoran fairytale - and the Skald telling does not know what war is referenced, or what "twisted ones" are. 

 

The dawn after the war brought with it a great owl, which flew over the continent like a silent observer. The Atmorans noticed the owl, but they barely acted on its presence. It was sitting in the trees, eating the corpses, taking their eyes, and avoiding the twisted ones roaming the lands. It would stare at the Atmorans in wonder when they approached the owl.

 

After the savages have left, the same owl could be seen roaming the coasts. It was not shy, but it would stay wary of the Atmorans as they built tents, houses, lived, and died. But the owl stayed the same, never changing, always watching.

 

And soon, the whalers came to show the owl their crafts, and their tools, and their spoils of war. And the owl would continue to stare, with the shine of the clear ice reflecting in its gaze. Yet, it never seemed to want the artifacts. It just stayed near the coast, flying over the trees with great freedom, watching silently. 

 

The children growing up humored the owl as their protector, for its watchful eye would surely keep them safe. But then the village was raided by the giants of the north, and many died. As they screamed out in help, pleading to the owl, it simply stayed on its branch, ever watching, never blinking.

 

After many more years and many people living and dying, they came to worship the owl as not a guardian, but as a god of knowledge. For the owl watched, and it learned. It learned about the customs of the village, about the clever crafts of the Atmorans, and about their lives, and their knowledge. They started to offer themselves to the owl, but it would not touch their blood as it stained the ice red. It simply stayed on its branch, watching.

 

But the owl did age. Its eyes lost their light and its feathers went from black to brown to bright to grey to white And one day, it fled into the sun, and never returned. The people still remember the owl, and they keep watching, keep learning, and keep preserving.